


Ripe and Ruin

by perfeggso



Category: Triple H (Korea Band)
Genre: Angst, Crime, Gangs, Multi, On the Run, Smut, drug dealers, it's just the mv but, threesome bonny and clyde typa deal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-06-07 15:30:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15222206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfeggso/pseuds/perfeggso
Summary: Yo.  So, I am back with another story just in time for Triple H's July comeback!  I decided to write something based on the '365 Fresh' MV so here it is.  If you want to know the plot just watch the vid, but if you want the full experience, here it be.





	1. Hui 1

_ Don’t turn around; don’t turn around; whatever you do, don’t turn around _ .  This is something you don’t realize walking down the street through Gangnam, scrolling through Twitter, with a Balenciaga bag dangling from your arm; this is something you only realize when you’re running for your life:  That, like fucking Sherlock Holmes, you can judge the exact distance of those tailing you by the echoes produced by the sound of their footfalls, and their size by how loud those footfalls are. I just turned a corner and ran headlong down an alley that looks like a good manhwa setting for a mugging.  There are telephone wires casting shadows on the ground ahead of me and I flinch subconsciously, mistaking them for the sinister swooping of a bird of prey above me. There is a broken sign lying on the ground next to a dumpster advertising eyebrow threading in neon pink. 

From the steps pounding their way towards me, I can tell the heavyset guy is probably only twenty or so meters away – about to round the corner.  I look to me left and past another corner I hear two of the others closing in. I break my own advice and look back, contemplating diving into the dumpster, but it’s too late – fatso can see me now.  I hear his buddy coming up behind him as the other two arrive from my right. Fatso slows down, panting, but relishing the feel of his left knuckles in his right palm. He pounds his meaty fist, massaging it with a smirk.  His buddy snickers under his dreadlocks and Matrix sunglasses. His hair looks like a tarantula; he should have a word with his stylist. 

The guys on my right sneer, jeering me.  They look vaguely familiar, so I think I must have dealt them some shit at some point.  Something flashes white hot in one of their palms. It’s sharp – a switchblade. _Fucking A_.  My eyes cut between the hungry dogs on either side of me to an imaginary camera.  My mind scratches a record and I freeze, finally cornered. 

“Lee Hoetaek,” says spiderhead, his voice glazed like his eyes, “you’re a tricky one.” 

_That’s me alright_ , I think, addressing my audience, _although I’m known in the business as Hui; infamous drug dealer to the kind of rich people who can’t get caught; and this is what happens when a client goes bankrupt:  Your boss sends his dogs after your ass_. 

“I prefer to be addressed as Hui, thanks,” I say, allowing my eyes to drift to my assailants.  Fatso laughs at me. 

“I don’t think you understand, Hui,” he explains, saying my name while hocking a loogie to the sidewalk, “you’ve lost your privileges.  You’re late on your payments – real late – and you’re losing money for the operation. This is a reminder, but if you don’t get your shit together, the next time you see us’ll be even less pleasant.” 

“Now just try not to struggle too much,” instructs the scrawny one to my right, the glimmer in his eye reflected in his knife. 

My dear audience, you might know by now – if you don’t, you will soon, don’t worry – the world loves to knock you down.  Sometimes, you claw your way out of pennilessness to the backs of tinted Bentleys wearing designer sunglasses, but worry not; life will drag you back to the gutter sooner or later.  However, I am not about to let life drag me down in the form of a pack of mangy dogs. I shiver as I realize I said that last part out loud. 

“Listen, pretty boy,” growls fatso with a smile, “by the time I’m done with your face you’ll be the dog.” 

My fist flies towards his jaw but he dodges it with surprising agility, grabs my arm, and twists it.  Next thing I know, something squishes against my face, catching hard on the bridge of my nose. I sense the scrape of bone on bone.  I taste blood as my eyes flutter and I slide to the ground, my arm still bent like a marionette behind my back. 

The last thing I hear is fatso warning me to deliver eleven million won by next week or get the knife. 

“Oy,” he adds, addressing one of the scrawny bastards to the right, “give him the blunt end.” 

A chalky, wooden handle crashes down on my head, stealing my breath as my vision goes black and I slump against the neon eyebrow sign.  


	2. Hyuna 1

It’s my last job of the night and it’s that odd time in early October where it’s overcast so it’s already dark even though it’s six.  Jiyoon was sick and didn’t come in and Gayoon had to leave early to attend a family dinner. I’m alone waiting for Mr. Lim to show up for his appointment.  Two weeks ago, last time he came, I caught him peering down my shirt as I leaned over him and then he patted my butt as he was leaving. I suppose he expected me to find it flattering.  I told my coworkers how it had upset me, but they assured me it came with the job and he meant no harm by it. I sit in the teal, plastic swivel chair and stare hard into the mirror. I dread his coming back.

The bell jingles on the door as it opens and Mr. Lim enters – a childlike sound.  He wears a grey suit. He must have gotten off work recently. 

“How is my dear beautician?” he asks me, hanging his jacket by the front window.  I don’t answer, but simply gesture for him to sit in my chair. He walks to me, smiling, then presses a thumb to my chin, condescending. 

“Hm?” he asks. 

“Please sit,” I say with a forced smile, and he does. 

I wrap his body in a towel, paint his face with shaving cream, and go at him with a manual razor.  The first few minutes are uneventful, but then I sense what feels like a daddy long legs climbing the bulb of skin behind my knee.  I look, eyes wide in the mirror, and Mr. Lim has caught me – eyes to mine and arm outstretched to let his hand slither. Farther, farther it goes – slowly – gaging my reaction, until it flicks the jiggle of fat poking from below my underwear.  I look down at him, meeting his eyes directly this time, and they flicker between mine and my razor. 

“Has it never occurred to you,” a begin, hoping to keep my voice steady, “that it may be dangerous to threaten a woman with a sharp object in her hand?”  

“Is this threatening?” he asks, innocent, as his finger flicks farther under my skirt and I drop the razor.  I think I might puke. Mr. Lim raises an eyebrow. “That did the trick, didn’t it?” He stands, face half shaved, and pins me against the mirror, twisting my hair in his hand. 

“I’ve been waiting to get you alone, dear,” he purrs.  I can’t breathe. “Am I upsetting you? I hope not.” 

I try to wiggle free and struggle for a minute while he traces his lips over my ear and jaw.  His breath is too warm. Finally, I manage to break free by slipping under him and falling to my knees in front of the razor.  I bumble with it for a moment, nipping myself on the pad of my pointer finger, but I grab it, force myself up and point it at Mr. Lim, my legs threatening to let me down at any moment.  He holds his hands up by his ears. 

“Don’t move,” I say. 

“Don’t tell me what to do, slut.” 

Before I can react, he lunges at me and takes in his hand the wrist with the razor. 

“Stop it!” I scream, “I’m going to hurt you!” 

He smiles over me.  “Isn’t that what you want?”

My hand quavers back and forth, manhandled by Mr. Lim, and in its blade I watch the neon ‘open’ sign flash in a blur of pink. 

I scream again, “Back off!” and heat pours over my hand.  I realize I had closed my eyes and tried to shove him away, but my blade caught his jugular.  My eyes open and my breath hitches at the sight of his dark blood flowing down my arm and down his front.  He falls, eyes pierced open and unbelieving in death; I fall, shaking, unable to think. His body, once it bleeds out and stops twitching, looks like a rubber chicken.  His last breaths are groans. 

_Fuck.  Fuck, fuck, fuck!_  What do I do?  I try to move him but he’s too heavy and I’m trembling.  I take off my flannel, leaving my camisole, and try to use it to mop up the blood.  It has formed a warm, sticky pool and its smell is rich in iron. 

_Please disappear.  This isn’t real._

I leave my shirt in the blood and stand, a new strength coming over my body.  I run outside and careen side to side around the alley behind the salon. I don’t know where I’m running but I do know no one can see me.  I am lost; my mind is lost in Mr. Lim’s blood, so I let myself step into the street without looking first. Only the glare of lights and screech of tires can wake me. 

It’s a pale-colored, 90s model Mercedes, and behind the wheel is a man with pale hair and eyes, and blood clotting at the top of his nose.  He looks at me, shocked, but not quite shocked enough. I don’t ask before climbing in the passenger seat. 


	3. E'Dawn 1

I’ve gotten a lot of shit for my mental health problems.  You see, after my mom died of breast cancer, everyone just assumed I was sad about it – which I was – but then when I was still sad three years later, and still am, it was suddenly my fault; how dare a rich kid feel sad, feel victimized?  I admit it: Many things about my life are cushy, but that has basically nothing to do with it. 

Last week I watched my father get dragged away to jail – for life.  He was never a great father; distant would be the most accurate descriptor, especially after mom died, so in all honesty I can say I know very little about the man.  That’s also why I can say in all honesty that I knew nothing about the multiple accounts of money laundering and drug use now hanging upon my father’s shoulders – not to mention our newfound bankruptcy. 

I’m back at my house for the first time in months, collecting what I was told I’m still allowed to own, but before entering my room, I pass through my mother’s.  My mother had the entire house decorated in a rococo style that should have been gaudy, but under her thumb, seemed sophisticated – if not outdated. Her room is as she left it:  Forest-y, chambray wallpaper and gold-leaf clam shell of a chaise lounge stubborn in their existence even as my memory of her fades. 

I wander to her vanity and pick up a preserved pack of cigarettes from the dusty marble.  She used to hoard these. The lighter still works and I wave smoky designs through her air.  There’s an Yves Saint Laurent red lipstick sitting there as well, and I use it to draw a choked smiley face on the mirror.  The eyes and mouth flicker unreliably over my own reflection. I leave the room. 

Between my mother’s room and mine is her bathroom.  The door is ajar and her standalone tub is visible. I know it as the place where both she and I tried to drown ourselves.  I’m not sure why I thought I could do any better at it than she had. 

Back home, I organize some very old tapes I still had packed away at the house, fingers trembling the entire time.  I don’t know what to do. I’m too exhausted to cry. I have no money. Even if I got a job now, it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy my landlord before the next payment comes and I get evicted.  The sadness which has set over me – and over that ornate, green room that I have decided I will never see again – is the kind of cosmic sadness to which it is impossible to find a quell. I can feel my body melting into itself – its boundaries softening, blurry.  I need to escape from it. 

There is a plastic bag and some tape in my room.  Somehow I manage to find them and affix them around my head and neck in a kind of hoodie-halo.  I can’t tell if I feel light and trance-like because of the whiteness on my vision from the bag, or because I cannot breathe and I’m slipping.  My feet splinter like a tingling running up my nerves. I sense a glow. 

_ Rip! _  All of a sudden there is a hole where my mouth is and I’m heaving breathes.  I tore the bag. I didn’t mean to – I didn’t want to, but brains are great at malfunctioning right up to the point of total self-destruction, and not past it.  I realize that if I want this done right, I cannot do it myself. 

It is dark for the hour, and a little brisk, and traffic is slow.  Finally though, I see the faint shine of headlights coming my way. I close my eyes and step off the curb into the street, hoping I have timed this impact correctly so it will be strong, and so the motorist won’t see me until it’s too late.  My head arches back with my step as the headlights warm my skin. 


	4. Hui 2

I wake up in the same alley.  I’m not sure how much time has passed, but the shadows on the pavement are paler in their definition.  My limbs ache and there is something sticky on my face. When I touch it, it is thickly congealed and the color of dried cherries – blood.   _Right_.  My memory comes flooding back.  I stand slowly, pulling myself up like fingers out of glue, then pat my dusty clothing down to make sure I still have my wallet.  I do. My clothes and body are cold in the way that they feel damp.

I hobble out of the alley, squinting at the lights in the twilight and cursing the rabid dogs who set me in this mess.  A family scurries away from me when I pass. I decide I need to clean up my act, so I try to walk straight and smile despite the overripe strawberry of a wound on the bridge of my nose.  I turn into the first bar I see; one with a neon yellow sign with cursive English lettering and a clatter of beaded curtains. It’s dark inside, covered in a burgundy glow, but it’s also early enough that the scene is sophisticated.  I hurry to the bathroom and clean some of the blood gunk off my face. I don’t know what they did to me when I was out, but my neck feels like it has an invisible syringe lodged in it. I try to ignore that. 

At the bar I order whiskey, hoping it will dull the pain a bit.  I need to figure out how to get out of here – far away ideally – to the countryside, where boss and his yes-men can’t find me and kill me.  Let’s face it; I won’t make eleven million won materialize in time unless I rob a fucking bank. There are two girls next to me at the bar, down just a few seats.  They drink fruity cocktails in martini glasses and giggle in my general direction. They look roughly my age.

“Hi, ladies,” I say from behind them, the scent of coconut wafting to me from their blonde and black hair.  They turn and gaze at me. The blonde seems to snarl in warning but the black-haired one’s face is open and smiling.  I put my arms around them, feeling one back tense, one calm. 

“Could I get you ladies anything?” I ask, raising an eyebrow like dragging a finger through syrup.  The blonde one starts as if preparing to say something.

“I’ll take another of these, big guy,” says the other one, cutting off her friend’s thought and gesturing towards her drink. 

I call the bartender over and order the girls a second round, throwing down some cash with one hand as I sneak a set of car keys from around the kinder girl’s elbow.  I visualize myself encased and moving through amber so I don’t move too fast; don’t disturb the keys to the point that they jangle and give me away. I think the blonde might know what I’m up to, but she can’t see me well even as she watches curiously, and she stays quiet. 

I wink and tap the bar with the knuckles of my innocent hand, slipping the keys into my back pocket. 

“Enjoy.” 

There’s no street parking on this tiny pedestrian thoroughfare, but there is a small parking garage behind the bar, perpendicular to the alley.  I wander into it, allowing the keys finally to jangle in my hand like a tinny wind-chime. I wouldn’t call it busy, but the spots in the lot resemble the crowdedness of a child’s teeth:  There are empty spaces, but they are in the minority and stand out against those which are filled. I look at the keys in desperation, but thanks to some incredible cosmic goodwill, this is one of those click-y keys (car fobs? Is that what you call them?) which you can press to make your car beep and announce itself when you’re lost.  The car’s horn comes echoing softly from several levels up, like a sound travelling through padding-insulated walls or across a snowy midnight landscape. 

I make my way towards it, flipping the keys in my hand and whistling a tune I heard on Mnet, recommencing my game of car Marco-Polo whenever I need until I am in the driver’s seat of a creamy 90s Mercedes sedan.  The inside smells like cherry lotion, mint Nicorette, and plastic leather baked in the sun. 

I plan on driving south for as long as I can before I fall asleep, which will probably be a long time considering I was knocked out for several hours.  I have a screaming headache but otherwise the sinewy ache in my muscles is drowned out. I think my legs might melt into the seat. The night is at a strange point.  Families are inside for the night, and partiers from more popular areas aren’t spilling yet onto tributary streets. 

I try to think of where to go.  I know I can probably find some little 24-hour motel somewhere along the highway south; the type that wouldn’t be inclined to question a man with a scar on his face and no luggage in his car.  I consider stopping first at my apartment, but part of my brain prevents me – warns me it’s too dangerous. It’s like a wave of energy over my scalp sending me a message to keep driving. I gaze down the dark street.  It is abandoned, so I let my eyes relax; fade out just a little. 

_ Screeeeeeeeeee! _  The shock of tires echoes in my head.  I didn’t even think as I stopped. There was something orange – a person – suddenly just ahead of me, quick as a ghost.  My eyes go back into focus as my heart tries to battering-ram out of my ribcage. 

I can see now that the apparition is a young woman, Halloween-orange hair crimped from stress, eyes wide like a doe.  At first I think her thin arms are cloaked in long red gloves. It is only when I see the fabric drip off her finger that I realize it’s blood. 

I’m not sure what to do about her.  She’s obviously in a bad situation and she won’t move.  I stare back at her with equal intensity and consider nudging her slightly with the car, but the desperation in her face makes me hesitate.  Finally, she breaks the standoff and moves, not away but around to the passenger side, climbing in without a word, the dusty light of a streetlamp streaming in with her.        

 


	5. Hyuna 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! I'm back after a very long time I have not died. Hope you enjoy these next few chapters and I'll try to write more but college is so busy!  
> There's been a lot of Pentagon drama since I've been gone but uhh enjoy anyway...at least now I feel less weird making Hyuna and E'Dawn's characters fall for each other haha

Being seated and in a closed environment with some semblance of cover does a lot for my nerves.  I take a break to breathe; look down for the first real time at my blood-streaked hands. They look like ice-cream sundaes with strawberry sauce thatched across them.  I want to cry but can’t, so instead I glance at the driver of the car. I had briefly forgotten about him. He is near my age and handsome. His hair is short but disheveled and dyed a sanded, powdery blond.  His eyes accost me; wide in awe and fright, and there is a crusted-over gash between them. He doesn’t seem to know what to do, movements caught between stillness and chaotic upheaval, so I decide to direct his energy. 

“Drive,” I say in the steadiest voice I can manage.  He stares at my out of the corner of his eye for a moment, sizing me up, perhaps looking for a weapon.  Once he’s sure he is safe enough he starts driving and we sit in silence for many long moments as flashes of streetlights bend against the window glass, the only sound that of the car’s aging engine.  After a while, I notice the blood is seeping into the fabric of my skirt. The man behind the wheel must see me staring at my hands because he sighs and starts rummaging around in the car’s compartments until he comes across a cream-colored handkerchief with grey streaked onto it and he hands it to me. 

“Thanks,” I say, hesitating in hopes he’ll reveal his name. 

“Hui,” he says. 

“Thanks Hui,” I confirm.  “I’m Hyuna.” He doesn’t say anything to that.   _Oh well_ , I think, wiping my hands until all that remains is a grainy pink film over them, _better a man who talks too little than too much_. 

“Put the handkerchief on the floor when you’re done,” he instructs.  I let the reddened fabric fall between my sneakers. I sniff the air.  It smells like the inside of a teenage girl’s backpack.

“This car isn’t yours, is it?” I inquire.  Hui doesn’t look at me, but curtly responds, “no.”   

I’m about to ask who it belongs to when he cuts me off to continue, finally looking at me straight-on for the first time. 

“Listen, why’d you get in the car?” he asks, eyes wide in panic. 

“Why didn’t you tell me to leave?” I ask.  Hui grits his teeth and looks back at the road. 

“Aish, really?” he hisses, flattened palm smacking the wheel and then resting on his forehead. 

“What?” I demand. 

“I don’t think you understand,” he insists, lowering his hand back to the steering wheel and turning back to face me.

“Understand what?”

“Hyuna, whoever you are, you shouldn’t have gotten in here with me.  I’m dangerous. I’m in a situation and anyone with me might get hurt.  And I assume whatever you just did could get me in even worse trouble! I don’t want to get caught up in your shit and you don’t deserve to get caught up in mine, understand?  Why don’t I drop you off somewhere?”

“No!” I scream, sure my eyes are nearly popping out of their sockets.  My outburst definitely startles Hui, because he goes quiet as the night outside.  “I think there’s something you should understand too,” I say, feeling my courage gather again behind my words.  If I were less out of my mind, I probably would be more worried about how long it’s been since Hui looked at the road, but in my current state that is my last concern.  I simply continue. “We can help each other, right? We’re both in a lot of trouble, so why not stick together? Two minds are cleverer than one, ya?”

Hui looks like he may buy my argument, but before he can answer either way, I notice a ghostly figure ahead of us in my peripheral vision. 

“Watch out!” I warn, slamming my hands on the dash as we skid to a stop and I feel the dull thud of a collision. 

“Fuck,” mutters Hui in shock.  I swear to god if I end up killing two people in one night…

“Goddamn it how many people are going to run in front of my car tonight?” Hui wonders, his voice and brow now set in angry exasperation as he stands, exits the car, and slams the door behind him.  I have no idea what is going on as he stalks into the intersection towards the pale figure we hit, who rolls over on the cold concrete and tries to stumble to his feet, form undulating strangely. Before the man on the ground can fully get a hold of his body, Hui turns him over and everything feels otherworldly hazy as I watch him poise his fist.   _Shit_.


	6. E'Dawn 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NANANANANA here comes the HyunDawn

It takes me a moment to realize I’m not actually dead.  This revelation hits me – quite literally – in the form of a fist to the jaw.  I can’t see at first but I can feel it, the knuckles scraping my jaw and the rumble of a yell emanating from somewhere faraway.  Everything I hear sounds like a vague echo from under the surface of a swimming pool. I assume the sound is directed at me, but I have no idea why.  Nor do I know why I’m being hit. Maybe I am dead after all and this is hell. Maybe this is it – forever – I’ll always be wondering what I’ve done. I realize my eyes are closed when I notice the streetlight streaming into my vision from in between my eyelashes.  On the next hit I open my eyes. The man punching me hovers over me, gripping my shirt and readying his fist. 

“There you are, you fucker!” he yells at me when I come to. 

He’s handsome with sandy blonde hair and a sleazy blue shirt, and based on the wound on his nose this is not his first tussle of the day.  I can’t say anything as a girl runs up behind him, trying to get him to calm down. At least I hope so. She’s absurdly attractive, with big eyes and lips, freckles, and a lot of orange hair that glows in the streetlights. 

“Shut up!” the man screams, turning his aggression to the girl.  They start arguing while he still has me suspended, so I take a look around in my free time.  I have managed to roll into the middle of the intersection from the impact, and I sense for the first time a heart-dropping pain in my lower left side.  Must have been where I was hit. Tears prick at my eyes and flood my vision, blurring the pedestrian overpass I can see when I let me head roll back. There’s no one else around so these two must be responsible for the car that hit me.  It occurs to me I still don’t know why I’m being beaten up, and the full absurdity of my situation floods my mind, so I start to laugh. It’s a rumble from within me which comes spilling out unceremoniously like vomit. I’ve never laughed so mirthlessly in my life, but it won’t stop – won’t stop building until I’m in hysterics – doing all I can to expel some of the rot within me.  The two people here with me regard me like I’m insane, probably because I am. 

When I open my eyes again, the guy no longer looks ready to hit me and the girl is practically tearing at his shirt to pull him away from me.  Before he changes his mind and turns violent again, I need to get out of here. With what I can only describe as an electric current forcing me to move, my legs rip me from the ground and I’m running through the intersection, arms akimbo, the laughter coming back.  My body doesn’t even hurt anymore. 

“Hey fucknut!” the guy yells at me, “are you psycho?  Get out of the street!”

I am incredulous.  I was in the street for a very legitimate purpose which this guy messed up – not me. 

“Why didn’t you kill me?” I yell back. 

“What?” Now he’s the one incredulous, standing with his head hunched forward and palms splayed under the red traffic light which dictates nothing for now.  “Listen, I’ll knock your brains out this quick, you’re on thin ice, buddy!” He doesn’t get it. The girl restrains him again while his hand convulses into another fist.

“Please get in the car,” she says, big eyes so genuine they give me pause.  I may be manic, but she is angelic, the streetlights shifting in her wild hair.  “We’re taking you to the hospital,” she assures, before more bickering begins between her and her – partner?  Boyfriend? I hope not. I start to back away, wondering if I should run in search of another car to walk in front of.  But this girl is making it hard for me. I almost wonder if the tranquil madness about her was meant to find me and pierce into me and give me just the change my life needed. 

“I’ll go with you,” I say, which I register makes an immediate air of dejection settle over the guy’s face.  “But I’m not going to the hospital – no hospitals.”

“But you’re hurt!”

“I can’t go in there,” I say.  “I mean it. No hospitals.”

We lock eyes silently for a few moments before the guy turns around and asks her why they even want me around in the first place.  Something about how I’d just make things more complicated. _He has no idea_. 

The girl glares at her partner, then directs her gaze back to me.  “Fine,” she says, “no hospitals. Just come over here.” She motions for me to approach like a circus trainer beckoning an animal.  Her guy throws up his hands as he turns to get back behind the wheel.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“We’re driving south for as long as possible.  We’re going far away.” _Perfect_. 

I limp to the car as quickly as I can and get in the back seat of the cream Mercedes, spreading out over the seats until as little of me is throbbing as possible.  The guy sniffs aggressively and taps his fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm with his feet. He pretends to ignore me but I see him watching me off and on in the rear view mirror.  The girl gets back in the passenger seat with a sigh. 

“Shall we?” she asks primly.  The guy looks at her, brows knit in dried-blood covered irritation, then turns the key in the ignition.  It’s attached to a pink fluffball keychain.

“Seatbelt,” the guy says to me, and I think he’s joking until I’ve finished breathing a laugh and he still hasn’t started driving.  I give in, wondering if it would have been easier to die after all when I am forced to press my lacerated ass onto the seat to fit into the belt.  Have I just miscalculated and made some false savior out of this girl of his? What am I doing? Her reflection takes a long breath in the quarter glass.  Naw, I’ve found a real angel.

“Fuck, man,” I say, closing my eyes against my pain. 

“You jumped in front of my car,” says the guy, sharp as a punch, “no complaining or I kick you out.”

“I didn’t jump,” I offer weakly, kicking my shoulders and legs like a petulant child.   _Ow_.

The streets are strangely quiet for this time of night, even in the middle of the week.  The brisk spring air seeps in through the open windows in the front of the car. I lean back and try to focus on it.  Next time I open them is because I hear murmuring from the front seats. We’re at the entrance to the freeway and my captors are deciding which way to go.  We go south towards Suwon. 

“This isn’t your car, huh?” I ask once the windows are rolled up.  It smells like college-age party-girl in here. 

“No,” the guy says curtly.  I watch the girl wrestle with how much to disclose.

“Hui stole it,” she says.  Somehow this is unsurprising. 

“Hui, huh,” I say, “and who are you?”

“Hyuna” she answers. 

I lean up to the cockpit of the car.  There are two cup holders filled with stickers, change, crumbs, Altoids, and an electronic cigarette.  There’s also a phone charger plugged into the USB. Thank god. 

“Hyuna,” I say, feeling the name on my lips.  The lights pass by outside, making everything fall in and out of illumination in a rhythmic pulse.

“Well I’m Hyojong,” I say, “would ya look at that?  Triple H.” I fall back in my seat, a bit too quickly. 

“So,” I continue, drunk enough on pain and outgoing adrenaline that I don’t really care if these two throw me out of the car right here.  “Are you two dating?”

They both look aghast.  I feel like I was not unwarranted in asking, but okay.

“No!” Hyuna insists.  “We just met each other like an hour ago…”

“Oh,” I say, thinking this one over.  Suddenly it hits me that I’m in a stolen car.  Right. There’s a lot I need to get caught up on.  

“Hyojong,” says Hui, voice stern like my teachers in middle school, “I’m going to need you to shut the fuck up for a while.  We’re being nice by picking you up. I mean I don’t even know why we did. So, if you could do me a favor and can it so I can focus on driving, that’d be great.” 

He seems to exhale in relief when I don’t respond.  I wonder what his deal is. Like is he always this much of an ass?  Is he under some immense stress? Does he feel like his chances with Hyuna are threatened because of my presence?  Whatever. I let the passing light and old car engine lull me to sleep. 


	7. Hui 3

I drove all night and I feel like death.  My mouth is dry, my eyes burn. Hyuna and Hyojong have been knocked out for most of the ride.  I only stopped once to piss and gulp down a coffee. Fuck this. At this point we’re getting close to Daegu, so that’s where I’m planning to take us.  I’m still not sure what we were doing picking up this Hyojong guy, but I’ve been watching him sleep like a child all night and I don’t know if I have the heart to dump him.  The morning sun stabs my eyes but the way it falls over the mountains and scrub pines so beautifully makes me feel like a derelict horseman in Goryeo or something. I kind of like it.

I pull over to an apocalyptically-abandoned gas station just to stretch my legs, and that’s enough to awaken my fellow runaways.  They don’t look too good; Hyuna has a pink film from blood stuck on her hands and arms, and her hair looks like candy floss caught in a windstorm. Hyojong has white paste dried around his eyes and mouth from sleep.  I look down at myself, disheveled, needing a shower. I look like the druggy I am. It hurts, not just my pride, but my body. I can feel it in my muscles and my knuckles just how much I pummeled and got pummeled yesterday.  When I try to stand and nearly buckle, I realize how much sleep I’m lacking, even despite the nap I took against my will in the alley. 

“Fuck,” Hyojong mumbles as he stirs and exits the car, “I need to pee.”  He runs off into the parking lot to find a bush or something. 

Hyuna isn’t getting up from her seat, so I steady myself I walk around to her side to check in.  She lies her temple against the headrest and gazes hollowly at the chalky ground. Sunlight streaks her face and she pouts, but it doesn’t look petulant; maybe broken.  She looks up at me when I cast a shadow in her field of vision. 

“Need to go to the bathroom or something?”

She shakes her head.  “I’m fine.”

“Want to stretch your legs?” I ask.  The urgency I saw in her last night has vanished with a night’s sleep and now she just seems empty.  Some company I have. At least there’s no way for boss to find me now. Hyuna shakes her head again as I hear Hyojong’s footsteps crushing the gravel behind me.  Hyuna looks past me and smiles, or at least I think I caught a small smile.

“Do you want to talk about whatever happened to you last night?” I ask her.  We all need a break and we might as well get some information out of it. Information and a plan.  Hyuna looks like I just asked her to eat my shoe.

“Do _you_?”

I shrug, taking the hint.  “No preference.”

“So, where are we going?” Hyojong asks, zipping up his canvas pants. 

“I’m taking us to Daegu,” I explain, leaning against the car and reveling in the metallic heat it radiates through my jacket.  “Figured that would be safest. I don’t fully know you guys’ situations, but I assume this isn’t a problem?”

“No problem,” says Hyojong and Hyuna just shakes her head once more.  I’m starting to think the crazy man is my more easygoing companion. I take a deep breath.  In the middle of the mountains, in an abandoned convenience store parking lot, we seem quite stuck with each other – for the moment at least.  They should know what they’ve gotten into. And frankly, I hope they reciprocate so I know what to expect too. 

“Okay, well I just want to say that – full disclosure – I owe a lot of money to my boss.  He’s kind of a mob boss, and it’s not my fault but I can’t pay him back. So, I’m getting away because otherwise he’ll probably have me killed or something.  Anyway, that’s why I stole a car. I don’t own one. I understand if you guys aren’t comfortable with that, so I don’t fault you if you want to bail…” I look around at the thick pines.  “But, uh, you’re going to have to wait until we get closer to Daegu…unless this looks fun to you I guess?”

Hyojong just stares at me and Hyuna stares at the ground still.  Jesus Christ. 

“Jeez man, that’s heavy,” says Hyojong as he shoves his hands in his pockets and shifts his weight forwards and back.

“Says the guy who stepped in front of my stolen car,” I say with a wry laugh.  I imagine my big mouth getting me murdered in the middle of the forest. To my surprise, Hyojong doesn’t look mad, he just smiles ruefully to his feet. 

“I, uh…fair.  I just have nothing.  My mom’s dead, my dad’s in jail for busting all our money on drugs, and I have no friends, no money.  I feel like I’m floating, removed from everything. It’s a terrible feeling.” 

He looks up at me to assess my reaction.  I realize I’m chewing on my lip as a think.  Blown money on drugs…could it be? _No_ , I think, _that would be way too big a coincidence_.  Things like that don’t just happen, and if it did so what?  Hyojong’s family has no more money for me. Not even money for my life.  But if it is a coincidence I feel a little guilty. I could have single handedly ruined this person’s life.  I kick the thought out of my mind like a rat next to a park bench and offer Hyojong my sincerest condolences. 

“Thanks,” he says.  If only he knew, I think.   _Shut the fuck up, there’s nothing_ to _know; you’re only imagining things_.

“Well,” begins Hyuna with a sigh, tracing her toes over the dirt, “if we’re having a sharing circle-jerk of pity or something, I guess I’ll contribute.”  Finally, she redirects her eyes from the ground to look between Hyojong and me. 

“I’m a hairdresser.” 

The irony of this statement forces me to choke back laughter. 

“And I was finishing work by myself yesterday with a client who’s always been a bit inappropriate with me.  So, when he got handsy I threatened him with a razor. I didn’t mean to kill him. I was just scared.”

“Hold up,” Hyojong sputters, laying a hand on the car to…steady himself? “You  _ killed  _ him?” 

“It wasn’t on purpose!” Hyuna stands. 

“Okay, okay,” I say, “it’s fine we’re all on the run, we may be morally ambiguous but I think deep down we’re good people and we can figure this out together.”  This seems to have the desired calming effect. “And it’s good we found each other, because we have legitimate things to escape,” I go on. “Well, maybe not Hyojong…”

“Actually, I did have to leave because I can’t pay rent anymore,” Hyojong clarifies.  “I just planned to leave by dying.” 

“Right,” I say, “well there you go.  Is that still the plan by the way?”

I’m nervous asking because I don’t know what to expect from someone with no self-preservation instinct.  To my great relief, Hyojong shakes his head no. 

“I think I’m good for now,” he says. 

We decide that before we head back on the road (with Hyuna driving this time thank god) we should see if there’s anything left in the convenience store and do a thorough check of the car in case it has something useful in it.  The store turns out to be locked and impossible to enter without breaking a lot of glass. Also, an inspection through the window reveals nothing of interest. I search the car. I already knew it had a USB charger which is fantastic because I don’t think any of us have ours.  I find empty water and schnapps bottles under my seat along with some very old Nature Valley granola bars. 

In the glove box I find mint gum, sunglasses with a shammy, registration under the name Lee Baeyoon, and a handgun wrapped in paper.  A gun! Do you know how hard those are to come across in Korea? I do! We use them in my line of work and getting ahold of fire power is a bitch.  It’s definitely real. This could come in handy. I hold it above my head and Hyojong and Hyuna just stare at it, slack-jawed. I doubt either of them have ever seen one. 

“Wooow,” they both coo, “that’s weird.”

“Isn’t it?”   

The sun has begun it’s shift to darker afternoon yellow and the mountain breeze rustles a sound like drying sheets through the tops of the pines.  No one has driven by all day. I lean against the car trying to decipher some kind of blueprints written on the gun’s wrapping paper when Hyojong calls me around to meet him and Hyuna at the trunk. 

“What is it?” I ask, but before I even need a verbal answer I’m face to face with a suitcase full of cash. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you for reading! I am slowly plugging away. If you ever read my equally-un-updated Chanbaek fic, I should post an update relatively soon :)


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